A Long Time Ago
by wisher93
Summary: Jane as a child battling with losing his mother and his dad turning to alcoholism. He witnesses something bad happen but can do nothing to stop it. Jane gets sucked in, and can't escape. After years of torture, where is the end? XxMention of serious, adult themesxX
1. The Beginning

Little nine year old Patrick Jane had already seen his fair share of pain and sorrow. His mother had died a few years before, his father had since turned to alcoholism to cope, and his older brother had gone off to join the Marines, unaware of the pain he had left his brother to deal with alone.

His days became a habit, one he didn't dare change up. He woke up in the morning. Early. That way he didn't have to deal with the man who lived down the hall. He would hurry to get ready and would leave for school at least an hour early. He walked slowly, but the distance of the school was only six blocks and it could only take so long. Then he just sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. Eventually the teachers would begin to show up, followed closely by the rest of the students. He would get up off the dirty ground, brush off his pants and go to class.

Sometimes he even let himself pretend he was a normal student, a normal kid. One who had a loving mother and father to make him breakfast in the morning and drive him to school, leaving him with an embarrassing kiss like he had seen other parents do. But other times it was just too painful. Too hard to remember losing his mother, losing his father, and his brother- his most amazing brother- Nathaniel leaving him too.

He would sit through class hoping for as much homework as possible so he would have something to do when he would have to return home to allow him to hide in his room without having to come up with hours' worth of things to do. The other kids would groan and complain, but he just sat there and smiled.

On his way home from school, he would take his time, passing through the apple orchard hoping to find an apple or two that had fallen from the tree so that he would have something in case he was unable to get anything at home . On those days it was too dangerous to go downstairs to the kitchen to find whatever had managed its way into the cupboards unless he waited until the early hours of the morning. Usually he could scavenge a can of something or other, or maybe, if he was lucky, a loaf of bread. But he didn't like to think of those nights.

When he finally made it back home from the orchard, he would peak cautiously through the window in hopes to find that his father was out of the house. Some days he was alright, and his dad was still out of the house, possibly even still working off the alcohol in his system from the night before in order to go out and get wasted all over again. Other days, he wasn't so lucky, but he didn't like to think about that either. That was worse than going to bed hungry. Much worse. But worst of all were the days when his dad was only on his way to being drunk. There were two reasons for that. One was he had gone to his temporary job he had somehow found, and had been fired or he had been to the bank or other various people to borrow money and they turned him down. Sometimes, on these days, he didn't want to be alive.

If his father was home and Patrick was able to sneak past him, he would go straight up into his room, shut and lock the door, and pray that his dad didn't have anything to start a fight over. If he was lucky enough to find his dad was out of the house, and he was feeling daring, he might do his homework in the living room, or even watch one of the movies he had been given before his life had turned completely upside down.

But his life really wasn't all bad. He had a few great teachers, and he loved gym. His teacher was probably one of the nicest people he had ever met (in his nine years anyway). He even had a few other kids that he played with sometimes at recess, though he wouldn't really call them friends. It was just too hard to hear all the great stories about their family and the trips they took together. He didn't mean to be like that, and he didn't know why he couldn't just be normal, but no matter how hard he tried, he would start to feel bad, and would just walk away in the middle of whatever they were playing leaving them behind shouting for him to come back like he would do sometimes in his head when he really started missing his mom.

* * *

><p>I saw her pull up in her car and took it as my cue to stand up- just like every day. She walked up to the door, coffee mug in one hand and a bag with whatever else in the other.<p>

She smiled at me and say, "Here already?" just like every morning.

Setting her bag onto the ground beside the main door, she grabbed two things out of her pocket. One small piece of candy, a wonderful treasure, and place it in my hand with another smile, and also her keys with which she unlocked the doors and went inside. This too was habitual, and more appreciated than she could ever know.

The day quickly passed, and before I knew it, the school day had ended. I walked to my locker, number 168, and grabbed my backpack and sweatshirt, shoving it inside. I then continued down the hallway to water fountain and gulped down a few swallows. While waiting, like always, I slid down against a wall, until all the students left so I wouldn't have to see all the other kids being picked up from school by the parents I so desperately wished I could have again. I let eyes close for a moment while dealing with the pain inside my chest that came when I thought about Mom.-

I jerked awake, mad at myself for losing control. Anything could happen when asleep. I knew that well. It must have between twenty and twenty five minutes, because the halls were empty; the last stragglers had left for the day. I stood carefully and made my way back down the hall and turned to go down another. I walked past a door that was closed, and the lights were off, but I stopped thinking I heard something coming from the inside. It sounded almost like a whimper…

I walk closer, pause again, listen, and hear it once more. Concern runs through me quickly so I look through the window into the dark room. What I see on the other side of the door shocks me; I didn't know what to do. I see one of the teachers holding a younger girl in his lap with his hand over her mouth. I can't see exactly what was going on behind the teacher's desk, but the girl is crying and shaking her head. I froze for only a moment before turning the door handle slowly, cringing when it squeaks, but the teacher doesn't seem to hear. Pushing the door open only far enough to sneak inside, I try to shut it quietly, but it is heavier than I expect and slams shut. This time the teacher does hear. The guy's eyes open and he glares at me for a moment before jumping into action. He pushes the young girl to the floor and springs across the room toward me.

"RUN!" I remember yelling as I run out the door and down the hall closely followed by the older man.

Running down some stairs and around another corner I see the front door and office. As I turn at the desk, I run straight into the principal.

"Whoa there!" he says with a joking tone, "slow down there Son!"

"But, there's, I am being chased…" I manage, out of breath, as he turns to look behind him and sees no one there.

"What do you mean? Who is chasing you?" he replies seeing the concern on my face.

"There was a teacher with a girl, she was crying and he saw me and came after me!" Jane replies in a panic.

"Do you realize what you are saying? Who was this?" asks the principal with a tone of disbelief.

"By the bathrooms upstairs! He has glasses and is short."

"Mr. Gunderson? You must have seen him with his daughter. I am sure that was all."

"No, I…I saw him hurting her!"

"Nonsense! Stop it, boy. There is no need for that kind of trouble around here! Now, head on home. Time for you to go back to your parents."

'_I know what I saw…'_

Unsure of what else to do, I start toward the door, but when the principal turns around and returns to his office, I run back in the direction I came from. Back up the stairs and down the hall, I stop outside the door that is closed once again, but it is locked now. I sigh in frustration. The last thing I see as I am hit from behind is the dark-haired girl laying on the floor with tears still running down her face with her hand stretched out toward me. Then I hit the floor and it's all over.

* * *

><p>So, I had this idea at 3:00 am on a school night, but had to write it down and this is what it turned into… Let me know what you are thinking and if you think I should continue. Not sure if I will or not, depending on your opinions. All mistakes are my own. Anyway, hope you like it and thanks for reading! -M<p> 


	2. Help

Sometimes I wonder what they think. By they, I guess I mean just a handful of people. My father for one. Does he even know I am missing? I would like to think so, but honestly, I'm not so sure. The second person to come to mind is the principal. The man I ran into before my life took another U-turn. Does he even consider that what I had been trying to tell him could be related to the fact that I am no longer there? And third, I think of my teacher, Miss Emilie. I bet _she_ knows I am missing. Maybe she is even looking for me. I wish I could see her again. I wish I could just go home again. I would gladly take my old life over this. But I don't think I will ever see these people, or my house, again.

There was also a time when I thought about that little girl, the one with dark hair that I saw before I fell to the ground. But I don't wonder anymore. I see her all the time now. She never says anything; I don't even know her name. We have been gone for days. Too many to count. I can only tell the days have passed by the tiny window near the ceiling that lets just a little bit of sun come in the room. That is all the light we have. We are in a small, cold room. It kind of looks like a garage but I think it is a basement. It is just the two of us down here, both in chains that are around our ankles.

She cries a lot, almost all day. I don't know how she could have so many tears. Sometimes that guy comes down here. He takes her away with him for a while. When he brings her back, she is only crying harder. I just want her to feel better; I don't want her to be sad anymore. I wish whatever he was doing to her, he would do to me so that she would be okay.

It is getting darker outside right now. We have been here for a long time now. He just brought her back to the room again, and she is shaking so hard that her head is making soft thuds behind where she is slumped against the wall as her head quietly hits the wall.

This happens over

And over

And over.

Help.

* * *

><p>More will come eventually. I know it has been awhile. I wasn't sure where to take this; now I think I know. It might be a bit of a stretch, but I think it will turn out and be different from what is often on here. Please let me know your thoughts. I would really appreciate it. I know this is short, but I needed a small bridge for what is to come.<p>

Thank you! ~wisher93


	3. Hope

I need to do something. I don't know what, but I have to do something. All these tears are just too much for me. For the girl, too, I guess. She stopped crying when the sun came up two days ago. The man hasn't come back since then. Maybe that's why, but I really don't think so. She just stares at the ray of light that moves across the wall that leaves darkness in its wake.

Suddenly the girl looks at me. Our eyes meet and I realize that with all those tears grew a girl willing to fight. She was done with this and so was I. I try to force sound out of my mouth but I haven't said anything for so long it comes quiet and feels sticky in my throat.

"What's your name?" I finally manage.

She looks at me. Just stares. For a moment I wonder if she is too broken to answer.

"I'm Patrick. Are you hurt?"

She looks at her feet. Her next breath is shaky and heavy.

"Y-Yeah. I think so. We need to get out of here. We have to."

She starts to get worked up. Her breathing speeds up and she looks around frantically.

"Hey, we will. Somehow. I bet they are looking for us. Someone will find us."

"We have to do something now!" She says again, determined.

"I know."

I did, too. But I don't know how we will do it. I don't know how to get out of these ropes. I don't know how we could make it.

"I'm hungry," she says quietly, again under control of her emotions.

"Me too," I tell her.

That's the bad part about him not coming back. I'm glad he isn't hurting her, I promise I am. But I wish we had food. And water. My throat is yelling at me, my stomach is worse. I'm tired.

Sleep.

A noise brings me back. I open my eyes, still tired, still hungry, still aching to go home. We make eye contact at the same time as we hear the lock on the door unhitch. For just a moment I see the same terror return. For just one moment she looks like she did on the first, second, tenth day. But then, it's gone. The empty look she recently discovered returned.

With our eyes still locked we listen our nightmare walk down the stairs to where we sit. She whispers something quickly, but the sound is muffled by shuffling feet and the heavy breathing of a third person.

I watch them go back up the stairs and feel completely and utterly hopeless.

It takes them awhile to come back. It's the longest time she's been up there yet. In fact, for a while, I don't think she will come back at all. It scared me. A lot. But eventually I heard the lock and door and I see them coming back down. The girl is sleeping and he has her over his shoulder. He sets her back down and ties the rope back around her wrists. Her head falls forward, her eyes still closed. He looks at me for a moment and I think that maybe it is finally my turn to endure whatever horror she has. But just as quickly he returns up the stairs and I know this visit is over when the lock clicks into place.

She doesn't wake up all night.

I don't know how long I was sleeping but I was still tired when I opened my eyes. I look across the room to see her still sleeping. She is wrestles, though, and I think she will wake up soon.

So I wait.

I used to think that I was good at gauging how long an amount of time was that passed. I used to have to guess often at home while hiding in my room. Now I don't know. If I had to guess, I would say it took about an hour for her to open her eyes. She coughs a little and looks at me.

"I think I know how to get away," is all she says before falling back asleep.

Finally, I feel like things will be okay. I don't know what she has in mind, but it is something. Something is always better than nothing. That is a lesson I will never forget.

I have hope.


End file.
